Meet Me in the Pouring Rain
by simplyshelbs16
Summary: Molly locked Sherlock out when he was finally ready to let her in. Now, two months later, their paths cross for the first time since then.


It's not pretty when a heart breaks. The movies had it all wrong, romanticizing such pain. Sherlock should know, as he's watched them all in a fit of desperation with hopes that there was something he seemed to be missing that could easily be found. There was nothing. Real life was hardly ever the cliché meet-cute, fall in love, fight briefly, and have a happily ever after. In fact, it never works out that way, and Sherlock, of all people, should know this by now.

It isn't romantic when your psychotic sister forces your deepest confession out from the hidden alcoves of your heart. It isn't the least bit satisfying to make the woman you love cry whilst she's repeating those three words. Words that were once supposed to fill them with hope and happiness were now damned and forbidden. Weeks had passed, but Sherlock hadn't a clue how long it actually had been, as he lost count after the first month. She no longer wanted him. And why should she? He was unlovable, just as he always thought himself to be.

* * *

Molly was beside herself, staring at the mess reflected back at her in the empty loo at the back of the pub. Her bun had fallen apart, tendrils of hair falling wherever they wanted. Lipstick the shade of dark red wine was smeared across her mouth. She was dabbing at the mascara that was running down her face from the tears she hadn't allowed to spill until now. With a string of convulsive sobs, Molly wondered how in the hell she got here. It felt as if her whole life had been falling apart, each string unraveling. First, it was Sherlock possibly going off to his death in six months, then Mary dying at the hand of a bitter woman, Sherlock high off his tits on drugs for weeks, and then that bloody phone call where her last nerve was shot.

Just before breaking down in a shoddy bathroom, Molly had a drink or two, eventually accepting a dance with a guy who bought her another round afterward. As a lightweight, she had been quite tipsy after her third, and somehow ended up stumbling toward a backroom with him. She hadn't even asked his name, let alone introduced herself, and there they were snogging in a storage closet. When he had started to feel her up, she mumbled her protests, but he must have taken it as sounds of pleasure. The moment his hand found its way up under her blouse, the skin to skin contact made her push him away hard enough for him to tumble to the floor. This wasn't what she wanted, though that's what she thought she should want. It was love she craved. Sherlock is who she wanted.

She cried for herself, and for Sherlock. Knowing the full story, she knew it wasn't his fault, but the walls that quickly built themselves around her heart wouldn't allow her to go forward with him. She wanted to be with him right now, but she resisted due to the aches in her chest that just wouldn't let up. The movies may be wrong, but the songs were right; it's not pretty when a heart breaks.

* * *

The air was crisp, and wind chilled him to the bone, but Sherlock didn't let it keep him from roaming the streets of London. It was almost mid-October, and his mind brought up the fact that this meant Molly's birthday was right around the corner. He could smell the scent of oncoming rain, waiting to shower the people in the streets below. Though he hadn't spoken to Molly in a couple of months, he knew she would be getting off work soon. He wondered how she would react if she were to see him after so long. He felt so lost within the streets he knew better than the back of his hand.

Continuing to wander, Sherlock happened upon a thrift shop that dredged up a once-happy memory. They were closing soon, and he couldn't help but notice the striking lemon yellow chair in the window. He hadn't a clue what possessed him to purchase it, but at least the kind woman who ran the shop agreed he could pick it up in the morning. And so, as he strolled down the street, it had begun to drizzle. Not that he minded, of course, though he could hear her voice in his head telling him he'd catch his death if he didn't come inside from the several times he had shown up at her flat in the rain.

Despite doing everything he could to not think about her, she was everywhere he looked. There wasn't a damn thing in this world that didn't remind him of Molly. Any time he'd start to button his aubergine shirt, he'd remember that it was her favourite color, and would quickly shrug it off his shoulders. Every film he'd watch, and every book he'd read would throw all kinds of reminders in his face. And now, as the rain started to pound the pavement, he found himself outside of Bart's hospital in front of a bright red telephone booth, where Molly was dialing his number. His mobile began to ring.

* * *

Thank goodness for the night shift, Molly thought, her memories from the night before making her shudder. She had been able to sleep off the splitting headache that had briefly woken her up early this morning. After clocking out, and saying goodnight to Stamford, she felt she couldn't get out of the building quickly enough. It was drizzling outside, but it wouldn't be too bad for the walk to her flat, as it was only a fifteen minute walk from work. Taking out her phone to check the weather report, she realised it had died the moment the rain began pouring down.

Sighing in frustration, Molly sprinted her way over to the telephone booth. Once inside, she wasn't sure who she was going to call. A cab would probably be the best route, but something inside her screamed it had to be someone else. Before giving it another thought, her fingers reached out toward the numbers that would inevitably connect her with the only person she wanted to see. Her hand shook as she held the phone to her ear, listening to it ring. What the hell was she doing? This was crazy! She should just hang up, and pretend—

"Hello?" Sherlock's comforting baritone answered, filling Molly with warmth from head to toe.

Unsure of what to say, Molly was silent for a moment. With a sigh, she spoke, her voice trembling as tears threatened to spill over again. "Hi, uh, Sherlock?"

"Yes?" he spoke breathlessly.

"I need to see you," she cried.

"Just look outside the window," he told her, walking closer towards the booth.

Without a second thought, Molly hung up the phone, and exited through the door into the rain. There he stood, as if no time had passed at all, looming over her as he always had.

He then chose to ask her the words she had once asked him. "What do you need?"

Molly was silent.

"Tell me, Molly."

"I can't," she finally told him. "This was a mistake. I need to get home."

Sherlock couldn't contain the anger that coursed through him. "Damn it, Molly! You're shutting me out again, just like you did when I came to you months ago!"

"Well, maybe if you'd wrap your small brain around my feelings for once, you'd understand why!" Frustrated, she brushed her hair back from her face with her hand.

"Do you not think I had your feelings in mind when I reached out to you!? It wasn't just for my benefit, you know. I'm sure you'd have a real reason to hate me had I not even bothered!" His throat felt raw from shouting, and he was sure hers must be in the same state as well.

"Maybe you shouldn't have! Why waste your time on me anyways!? It's not like you actually love me, Sherlock! I've felt so alone these past few months, you have no idea!"

"Oh, really!? You don't think I've been alone just as much as you!? The reason I reached out is because we should have been healing together, Molly! Don't you see that?"

That's when it hit her. Sherlock really had been just as alone as her. John was never going to be fully over blaming Sherlock for Mary's death, and it's not like Mycroft had experience in this particular area. They should have been healing together, but she shut him out just when he finally wanted to open himself up to her.

"I'm not saying you didn't deserve time for yourself, Molly," Sherlock spoke softly, "but I wish we could've healed together. I wanted to be there for you, as I know that phone call must have shattered you even more than it shattered me."

Despite the rain pelting her face so hard, it stung her, she reached out to him, closing the gap between them. With her arms around his neck, her fingers sunk into his wet curls, she pulled him down for a searing kiss that warmed them up from the inside out. Sherlock couldn't resist lifting her up the moment her tongue slid against his in perfect tandem. "Molly," he moaned between kisses. Unfortunately, he tore his mouth away from hers after hearing the loud honk of a town car that had pulled up beside them.

"I assume you two may need a ride?" Mycroft asked from inside the back of the car. Sherlock carefully set Molly down, opening the door for her. As they slid inside, the elder Holmes spoke up again. "Just in time too, as I was afraid you'd both be stuck that way for quite some time. Where shall we drop you off?"

"Baker Street," Molly blurted, without thinking. It must have shocked Sherlock as well, since the look on his face was full of confusion. "And step on it, would you?"

* * *

Curled up in his bed, in her spare set of pyjamas, Molly reveled in the feel of his arm securely around her waist. She could feel his hot breath on the back of her neck, his lips close enough to her skin that if he moved in the slightest way, it would feel as if he were kissing her. She thought of the hours they had just spent having deep conversations with the welcome interludes of snogging and gentle touches. They cried, they laughed, and loved with a love fiercer than any other.

She sighed happily, snuggling herself closer to him. It was funny how just a few hours could change your life just like that after a rather rubbish two months. Every day since the phone call, Molly had consistently told herself that the next day would be better. For the first time since then, she could confidently say that tomorrow would truly be better. The future now held more possibilities than she once imagined. She was ready for whatever would be thrown her way, because she had someone to help her fight through her storms, just as she'd help him fight through his.

* * *

**Author's Note:** thank y'all so much for reading! this is actually the first fic I've ever put any 'planning' into, so I hope it turned out well! please tell me your fave part!


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